


Sway

by dementorsatemysoup



Series: Post Season Four [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: First Dates, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/pseuds/dementorsatemysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey tries to take Ian on the perfect first date, but Ian has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sway

**Author's Note:**

> Listening to love songs brings out the romantic in me. So, my dear readers, have some fluff with a side order of warm and fuzzies.
> 
> Please enjoy, these are not my characters, and thanks for reading.
> 
> Bye!!!

It’s their first, proper date (though one could argue their first date had been in the dugout years ago), and Mickey doesn’t quite know what he’s doing at this swanky place. He had to actually  _call_  ahead, get a damn table, just so they could eat here. And who the fuck gets a salad for  _that_  much? It’s fucking lettuce. Are they serious?

He feels a foot nudge his leg and he looks up, returning the smile Ian gives him. Okay, so maybe he wants tonight to be special, and if that means ordering food that costs more than his whores make in a week, then Mickey's gonna damn well do it. Or maybe he’ll order from the appetizers. Those seem like they’d be cheaper…

Never mind.

"Hey," Ian says softly, catching Mickey’s attention again. "Wanna get out of here?"

"What?" They’ve only been here ten minutes, how the fuck is the date already over? Mickey is sure dates are supposed to last longer than ten minutes. Or so he’s heard from Mandy, but he’s not sure he can take her advice at face value. Her track record with men has been total assholes and Lip Gallagher (who is barely a step up from an asshole on a good day).

"It’s just…" Ian looks around, wrinkling his nose at the string music playing from the speakers overhead. "This isn’t  _our_  type of place, you know?”

Ian’s right it’s  _not_  their type of place. Their type of place reeks of booze and sweat. Their type of place could get shut down any day now.  _Their_ type of place isn’t the best place for a first date.

"Let’s go get a hotdog at Tommy’s," Ian suggests just as their waiter arrives at their table. He sneers at the ‘fuck u-up’ tattoo across Mickey’s knuckles, and the state of his clothes. Sue him, he doesn’t own a fucking fancy ass suit. This guy is the main reason Mickey won’t leave. People like him, snobs who think they’re better than everyone else because they do things like bathe regularly and go to country clubs.

Fuck those people.

"Have you decided, yet?" the guy asks in an oily voice. He clearly does not want them here. Well, fuck off buddy, Mickey has every right to eat here, too.

"Give us another minute," Ian says and the guy scoffs but walks away. Once he’s out of earshot, Ian leans over the table. "Come on, let’s get out of here. Who care what these assholes think? We’ve got nothing to prove to them."

Mickey wants to say it’s the principle of the thing, but he knows his pride is just getting in the way. They really shouldn’t have come here, but he doesn’t want to go to Tommy’s or The Alibi either. Why does all of  _their_ places have to be shitholes?

"I know where we can go," Ian presses and Mickey feels his resolve slip. "Let’s just go."

Finally, finally he nods, and they leave as quickly as they can, Ian stealing a piece of cake from the dessert tray on the way out.

* * *

They end up at the dugout, sitting on the bench, sharing the cake Ian had stole. When it’s gone, Ian puts the plate down, getting to his feet. He walks away, moving towards the car. Mickey stands to follow him, but he stops when the car’s headlights click on, a soft, melody playing from the open door.

"Alright Milkovich," Ian says returning to Mickey’s side, offering him a hand. "Get your ass up."

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mickey grumbles eyeing the hand warily.

"Just take my damn hand," Ian retorts waving his hand. Rolling his eyes, Mickey does as he’s told, and Ian pulls him to his feet. "Alright, put your hand here," the redhead places Mickey’s free hand on his shoulder keeping the other one held tightly in his hand. He then puts his own hand on Mickey’s waist, and he rocks his body from side-to-side, but Mickey refuses to move.

"Come on, Mick, just for tonight."

Mickey mutters something, and Ian leans in closer, placing his ear a few inches from the shorter boy’s mouth. “Can you repeat that?”

"I don’t know how to dance," Mickey repeats with a frustrated sigh.

"Just move," Ian replies with a small wink, moving back just enough so his eyes can meet Mickey’s. "Just move," he repeats and the two begin swaying back and forth, in some sort of quasi-slow dance.

Somehow, they end up even closer, flush against each other’s bodies, not really moving anymore, and it’s such a intimate moment that, had this been a year ago, Mickey would have already pulled away (not that he would have willingly danced with Ian a year ago), but now he can’t pull away, not even if he tried, and he’s actually very okay with that.

"The song’s changed," Ian says softly, his breath warm against Mickey’s face.

"Has it?" The older boy hadn’t noticed, too wrapped up in Ian to care. The world could be falling apart around them, and Mickey would be content just standing here, in Ian’s arms (and yes, he knows how sappy that sounds, shut the fuck up).

"You wanna stop?"

"Not really."

They continue to  _not_  dance, through another song, and Ian leans down, pressing his lips to Mickey’s, who returns the kiss readily. It isn’t a swanky place full of snobs, nor is it their  _usual_  places.

It’s better.


End file.
